


nicest man you've never met

by Purna



Category: I Spy (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purna/pseuds/Purna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dead has a smile like the nicest man you've never met<br/>who maybe winks at you in a streetcar and you pretend<br/>you don't but really you do see and you are My how<br/>glad he winked and hope he'll do it again<br/>                       --e e cummings</p>
            </blockquote>





	nicest man you've never met

Rostov came for them in Milan when they were both unarmed and vulnerable. If an Italian train hadn't been on time for once in Scotty's life, they'd have both ended up dead.

In the end, it was too close. They took a chance, diving in front of the 10:55 from Venice, ignoring the engineer's frantic whistle blast. They beat the train by the skin of their teeth, close enough for Scotty to see every chip in the engine's green paint and feel the rhythm of the turning wheels throb in his chest.

The hot blast of disturbed air and the sound of the train raked across him like a blow, and they ran, threading their way between train cars and over tracks. Scotty hoped the Venice train was an extra-long one, because Rostov would be on them like a shot once it had cleared. She had nothing to lose now, after all.

The running jolted him, turned the heat in his side into something sharp and demanding, and he couldn't help gasping. His hand came away bloody when he touched his ribs, and he knew that one of Rostov's shots hadn't missed.

Kelly shot him a frantic glance, his eyes lingering on Scotty's bloody hand. "Zigged when you shoulda zagged," he said, and then he was right there at Scotty's side, one strong hand on Scotty's bicep, lending his strength.

"I just bought this suit," Scotty complained, stumbling on the gravel. Kelly's implacable grip propelled them forward, half-staggering, half-running.

"Told you it didn't drape right. Made you look like an undertaker." Kelly sounded out of breath and distracted. The easy patter belied the hard set of his face, the look that meant Kelly was figuring out their next three moves, considering every contingency. "You never listen to my fashion advice."

"I've seen the way you dress." Scotty winced at how weak he sounded. The trickle of warmth down his side was continuous, leaching away his strength and faculties. The smell of it filled his nose, copper cutting through the dusty diesel smell of the train yard.

He took in a deep, painful breath. The bullet had missed his lung; there was no rising wetness to drown him from the inside. He'd gotten lucky this time, at least so far. They still had Rostov on their backs, after all.

"She's still back there," Kelly said, echoing Scotty's thoughts seamlessly. "I don't think she likes us, my man."

"Killed...her partner," Scotty gasped as they staggered to a stop. They'd arrived at the wall that surrounded the train yard.

Kelly let out a wordless sound of agreement, and Scotty dug his fingers into the rough brick of the wall, trying not to panic. The wall was huge, and he could barely stand up straight, much less make like a cat burglar.

"Easier if you leave me," he said without much hope.

"Say that again and I'll have to punch you right in the mouth," Kelly said absently. "Up you go."

It hurt. A lot. He sweated and grimaced and bit back more than one scream, and afterwards, he could never remember exactly how they managed it.

When he reached the top, his fingers were worn raw, and he sat there for a second, drenched and trembling. Shots ricocheted nearby and he tried to move too fast. Blacking out, he ended up in a crumbled heap on the other side of the wall.

He floated back to the surface to find Kelly lightly slapping his face. "No napping on the job, pally," Kelly said in a strained voice. "We gotta move."

A groan made it through clenched teeth when he tried to stand up straight. He let himself fold over a little, and pressed one hand to his side. Without Kelly's shoulder, he'd have collapsed right back onto the ground.

They staggered their way through streets lined with warehouses. It was mostly deserted, and they feigned drunkenness when a lone car passed them by. Kelly's jacket was tightly wadded against Scotty's wound, but blood still trickled down his side.

"In there." Scotty nodded weakly at a pair of heavy gates. The chain that locked them looked loose, and produced a gap when Kelly pushed on them.

They managed to squeeze through and found themselves in a disused courtyard, filled with weeds and overgrown shrubbery. It looked as if it had been deserted for a long time. "The cats are away, and the mice can play," Kelly said. "Let's find somewhere to hole up."

***

"I think we lost her," Kelly said. He had to stand on a box to peer out the small dirty window high up on the wall. "It's been almost a half hour with no sign of her. We need to get your wound looked at."

Scotty nodded. He tried to shift from his spot on the floor, propped against the wall, and a sharp flash of heat and pain struck his side like lightning. He couldn't stifle the sound that spilled out of him. For an interminable stretch of time, his world narrowed down to breathing and praying, inhaling and exhaling. When the worst eased, he was shivering.

"You go," Scotty said shakily. "Find us a nice car to borrow. Low mileage, bucket seats. I'll just...wait here."

"The wonderfulness of your mind is second to none, my friend. My light-fingered skills are at your service," Kelly said, but his eyes looked worried.

"Go, Kel," Scotty prodded when Kelly hesitated. "Please." Which earned him a startled glance and acquiescence.

The silence closed in once Kelly was gone. Scotty let his head drop back tiredly against the wall behind him and tried to wrap his arms around his chest to stay warm. It was stuffy and hot in the warehouse, but his teeth were practically chattering. _Shock,_ he thought grimly and hoped it wouldn't take too long for Kelly to do his thing.

He let himself drift. Maybe ten minutes had passed, when his head snapped up.

Footsteps, too light to be Kelly's and too deliberately placed for a civilian, were coming towards him.

Rostov. They hadn't slipped her. He tensed and when he tried to move, his head spun dizzily. He collapsed back against the wall.

_This is it_. And though it was far from the first time that he'd thought those words, or been this close to his own mortality, his heart was still trying to pound its way out of his chest. His mouth was dry as dust, but his brain was still working furiously, pondering with a fatalistic sort of determination whether his own death would mean the end of Kelly as well.

A Makarov preceded Rostov into the room. She held the weapon before her in a practiced grip, gripping it like a lover or a partner. The Makarov's finish was dull and scarred, as well used and lethal as Rostov herself.

She was paler than Scotty remembered, fair and blonde, and tall. She was sweating profusely, her linen dress crumpled and damp, and Scotty felt a certain satisfaction that at least they'd made her work for her vengeance.

Her cheeks were flushed bright red in a face that was incongruously cherubic above a hard, muscled body. There was nothing of the angel in her eyes, though, which were empty and dead.

She stopped well outside of range of a leg sweep, leveling the Makarov at him. Her mouth twisted in satisfaction when she saw his wound, her eyes darting up to his face afterward.

"You killed Misha. He was my partner, and you took him away." Her English was flawless, delivered in a cold voice utterly devoid of emotion, and he thought perhaps he'd taken her sanity along with her partner.

_That's why neither one of us gets killed_, Kelly had said once to another Russian agent. Marisa, deadly and beautiful, who had warned them not to care so much.

Scotty didn't say, "We're agents; it's our job," or, "He was trying to kill me." He didn't say any of that because it didn't really matter.

What did she have, what did any of them have? Once the first blush of adventure wore off, after the shine of patriotism tarnished, what did any of them have left?

Cynicism, scars, and bad dreams. And each other.

Scotty's depressing musings took less than a second, and then he could see Rostov's finger start to tighten, and he closed his eyes.

Rostov made a wordless sound and the shot rang out, but Scotty felt no impact. His eyes popped open in confusion.

Her mouth formed a perfect _O_ as she stood there, frozen stiffly. The Makarov fell from her shaking fingers, and some still-logical part of Scotty held its breath as it clattered to the floor. He'd never trusted the firing pin in those things, but it didn't discharge.

Time speeded up again, and then Kelly was there, tackling Rostov. She didn't struggle, falling gracelessly to the floor. Scotty caught a glimpse of wooden handles and long, rusty blades sunk halfway into Rostov's body. The white linen of the back of her dress was rapidly staining red.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, and a wave of exhaustion suddenly rolled over him.

Kelly was crouching down beside Rostov's head, feeling for a pulse. "Bet you wouldn't have thought I could throw a pair of hedge trimmers like that." The light tone fell flat, and Kelly grimaced. He touched Rostov's shoulder and said in a rough voice that was barely audible, "What are we doing to ourselves?"

"Buck up, Watson," Scotty murmured. "We all knew the rules." He propped himself up a little, grunting in pain.

"Or we thought we did."

A moment of silence and then Kelly moved close, wiping at Scotty's forehead with a sleeve. "Well, I think we broke you this time, Holmes."

"A little bent, maybe. Not broken." Scotty's smile turned into a grimace when Kelly started poking at his wound. "You came back just in time."

The hand went still on Scotty's side, and Kelly didn't look up. "I was just starting to hotwire the car when I got a real bad feeling. Came back and found a handy weapon outside."

Scotty tried not to let the weirdness of Kelly's premonition bother him. _Agent's instinct_, he told himself.

He reached over towards Kelly. He needed to touch, to ground himself and remember that he was still alive. His hand landed on Kelly's chest.

"We are just that good," Scotty said. He flexed his fingers in the warmth radiating through Kelly's thin shirt.

"Just that lucky, you mean." Kelly's face went hard. "Luck runs out. Theirs did." He jerked his head at Rostov's body.

"Hey, none of that." His fingers knotted in the front of Kelly's shirt. He tugged, pulling Kelly towards him, close enough to press their mouths together, rough and quick, not quite a kiss. "We're good here. Quit complaining, my man."

Kelly tried to pull back, but Scotty didn't let go. Kelly's eyes were on his, dark and desperate, and Scotty didn't look away. _I'm here. I'm yours and I'm not leaving, _Scotty tried to say with his eyes.

Kelly's tension eased minutely, and this time he initiated the kiss. It was deeper, with tongue, wet and real and alive.

When they parted, Kelly's expression didn't seem quite so shadowed. His mouth was wet and red, well-kissed, and there was heat and lust in his eyes, not despair.

Scotty waited a few beats and then he poked Kelly in the gut, making him start. "You did good, Kel. Saved my life. You know I love you, right?"

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls." Kelly was camping it up, his usual reaction in the face of too much naked emotion.

"No," Scotty said seriously. "Just you."


End file.
